


Promises, Promises

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Businessman Draco Malfoy, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Inspired by..., Lawyer Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27027772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: Lawyer and social work advocate Hermione Granger is one signature away from fulfilling her dream to have a house-elf education program. All she needs is to seal the deal, and Draco Malfoy has promised the full support of Malfoy and Son Developments. But the owner of the property is balking, there's a new buyer in the mix, and a promise isn't a contract.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 47
Kudos: 426
Collections: Dramione RomCom Fest





	Promises, Promises

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DramioneRomComFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DramioneRomComFest) collection. 



> **Prompt:** Two Weeks Notice (2002)

The waiter set their meals in front of them and refilled Draco's coffee from a carafe floating behind him. "Enjoy, sir. Miss," he said with a slight bow as he backed away from the table.

"I'd like another day or two to go over the details," Hermione said, waving her fork in the air absently as Draco scooped up the carrot swirls garnishing his steak and set them on her plate. 

"I know it's nearly set," she continued, and Draco took the four decorative wedges of cucumber from her plate, transferring them to his. "But a little more time and it could be perf—radish rose," she said, pointing her fork at her plate. Draco took his coffee cup off its saucer, put the radish in its place, and covered the offending vegetable with his napkin.

"It's already perfect," he said, taking Hermione's tiny bowl of rosemary butter and half her bread. "You've put in more hours on this one project than you have anything else since you started working for me."

"That's because this is the project that _convinced_ me to work for you. You promised. If I acted as your legal advisor for one year, you would throw the entire might of Malfoy and Son Developments behind this project." She scraped the lime wedge out of her water glass into his. "The year's almost over. I have everything lined up. Contractors are ready to do the rebuilding necessary, trades teachers are ready to give lessons, tailors and seamstresses have their sewing machines threaded, bobbined, and whatever else it is sewing machines do. I can start my house-elf education center any day. All I need is the building itself."

Her voice sounded sharp, like she wouldn't need a knife to cut her steak. Draco paid close attention to the swirls of milk and sugar as he stirred his coffee. He kept his voice light. "And what's the delay on that again?"

Hermione ripped her bread into pieces. "The owner of the property is the delay. He's refusing to sign the paperwork. Keeps putting it off, sending notes that he's off to Zurich or Milan or Athens to look into another deal. 'Regrets, Miss Granger, but I will have to reschedule again' or some bloody sodding bollocks."

Draco blinked at her, watching for any sudden moves toward her knife. "That language isn't like you."

"I'm frustrated!" she says, loudly enough to have the elderly couple at the next table shoot quelling looks at her. Hermione sighed and sat up straighter in her chair. "If his name wasn't hidden behind layers of shell companies and committee boards, I'd go find him myself and drag him by the ear to make him sign the papers. As it is, he's _sworn_ that he'll be at this meeting, he'll sign over the property, and I can finally get what I've wanted for years."

Draco stared at his plate. He set his fork down with a muffled clink and cleared his throat. "Hermione, I—"

The waiter hurried up to the table, and Draco fell silent. "Do pardon me, sir," the waiter said. "But there's an urgent message for you." He handed Draco a folded slip of paper, then scurried away. 

Draco read the message and ground his jaw. A throb set up in his left temple, the start of a headache that was regrettably familiar to him. He crumpled the note and stuffed it under his napkin with the radish rose. "I have to go," he said. 

"But you've barely touched your—and you said you'd look at my—" Hermione's shoulders drooped. She ran her fingers through her hair, twisting one curl around her fingers. "Draco, not again."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I have to go. I need to speak to my father. I'll be at the meeting."

He stood, tossing back the last of his coffee. His fingers twitched, then he gently rested his hand on Hermione's shoulder. "You're going to be great," he said as he bent down to her. He took a deep breath of her shampoo, resisting the temptation to press his nose into her hair and inhale her scent. As much as he'd like to carry that with him back to the office, he knew better than to be overtly flirtatious in public. They'd had that discussion repeatedly. "You're the best in the city, Hermione. This is all going to work out."

* * *

The conference room had cleared out swiftly at the end of the short meeting. Discarded notes, crumpled papers, and half-empty water glasses were all collected by a silent woman from administration, who took one look at the two people left in the room before shutting the door behind her with a soft click.

Hermione sat at the long table, arms folded, and glared at Draco across the width of the polished surface. "You knew all along," she snapped. "You _knew_."

"I didn't," he said.

"You did. You knew your father owned that property, and you knew he was going to do everything he could to weasel out of the deal. You _knew_ ," she shouted, slapping her hand on the table. Her palm stung from the impact, but it was a tiny, forgettable pain compared to the ache in her chest.

Draco ruffled his hair and sat back, unfastening his sleeve to roll up the cuff. "I didn't know until ten minutes before the meeting started. I deal with residential properties, not commercial. I don't go poking into his side of the business. Maybe I suspected." He rolled up his other sleeve, smoothing the folds beneath his elbow as Hermione snorted at him. "It was suspicious that he was out of the office every time you set up another meeting with the owner, and he seemed too amused by something every time I mentioned your troubles, but I didn't _know_. I swear to you, Hermione. I didn't—"

"You promised me," she said. She lifted her chin and swallowed roughly. She refused to cry. Not now, not in front of him. "You promised, Draco. One year, and you would do everything you could to help me get that property. Now I'm going to have to start over."

"I said this will all work out and I meant that. Hermione, there's something I need to—"

"No." She didn't give him the chance to make an excuse, which she assumed would be the rest of his sentence. She shook her head and gathered her hair at the back of her neck. "Your father would _never_ sell to me. Never. He made that abundantly clear during the meeting, and as much as I absolutely loathe myself for saying it, his legal team is better than yours."

"Certainly more numerous."

She narrowed her eyes. He had a lamentable tendency to make a joke, and while she normally found it amusing, even adorable, now was not the time. From the brief wince that crossed his face, he realized it. A little late, but at least he caught on.

Draco held both hands up in a pose of surrender. "Look, I'm sorry. He found another buyer, one who was willing to offer double what you were. I know it's not the outcome you wanted, but your notice isn't up for a few more days. I can—"

"I'm changing my mind," she said. "I'm finished. I'll come in tomorrow to collect my things and finish my paperwork. And that's it. I can't spend one more day in this office, knowing that he's a floor above me, sitting there in that oxblood leather chair and chortling to himself—"

"My father has never chortled a day in his life."

" _Chortling_ to himself over getting one over on me and my 'foolish doomed crusade'," she continued, her voice shifting into Lucius' drawling accent for the last words. "All I wanted was a place to teach house-elves trade skills, give them basic education. They have choices now. I made sure of that when I was at the Ministry, and all they need is a chance to exercise that choice. Learn a trade, find paid employment."

Her voice started to quiver and she pressed her hand to her throat as she took a deep breath. _No_ , she told herself. _Control. Keep your control._ "I wanted this, Draco. And I nearly had it. Have you ever wanted anything so badly that it was all you could dream of, all you could think about? Where you woke up every morning thinking, today. Maybe today my dreams will come true."

He watched her for several moments, then closed his eyes. "Yes," he said quietly. "I know exactly what you mean."

Hermione closed her eyes as well. They'd had this conversation before, in a different sense. As long as they were working together, as long as he was her boss, that was all she would allow. Work. She knew he wanted more than that, and the truth was, she wanted more as well. But it was hard to think of that, to think of anything like that, when all she could feel at the moment was the weight of a crushed dream. "So you understand why I can't stay."

"No. I don't really understand. But I won't stop you." Draco cleared his throat and opened his eyes. He looked at her, his fingers moving idly on the table. "It's likely the most horrible time to ask this but I—will you still be attending the fundraiser masquerade? Saturday night."

"Of course," she said, gathering her notepads and folders to stuff them into her attache case without regard for crumpled corners or torn edges. "Of course I'll be there."

She stared Draco in the eyes. "I promised I'd attend. And I keep _my_ promises."

* * *

Draco watched as Hermione swept through the room, her hair sparkling with a net of jewels, the train of her gown swaying behind her with every step. She approached him, blinking from behind a glittering green and blue mask. "Is it a coincidence that we match?"

Draco glanced down at his robes, shimmering from blue to green as he moved. "No," he said, looking back to her face. She was beautiful, almost unbelievably so, and he wanted to reach out to her, stroke his fingers down the length of her jaw and brush his thumb across her lips. He touched the edge of his mask instead, adjusting it on the bridge of his nose. "Not a coincidence. I asked around to see what you were wearing. You're embodying the merfolk tonight."

"I represented their interests for three years at the Ministry," she reminded him. "Care to hear my Mermish?"

Draco laughed. "Thank you, but no. I'd rather keep my eardrums as they are." He looked over the dance floor, at the masks and costumes depicting the wizarding world's magical creatures and beings, from vampire to centaur to dragon and beyond. The dancers swirled and stopped with the music, applauding the orchestra floating several feet above them.

The musicians took a quick break to change music scores and adjust instruments. Draco looked back to Hermione. They had a shared attraction, and they'd been honest about that from the beginning, but they'd decided not to do anything about it. Not as long as he was her boss. But she'd quit, he told himself. He wasn't her boss now. She might still be angry about the way the meeting had gone, but he had to take his chance. He had to know. 

He turned his palm up, hand out to her. "Dance with me."

She tipped her head. The multitude of costume jewels in her hair caught the light and sparkled like stars in her dark curls. "Dance with you. You don't think that's inappropriate?"

"I'm not your boss any longer," he said, letting his thoughts become words. "You quit two days ago, remember? We're just two people at a ball. Two people who are not currently dancing but could be." He stepped closer and linked his little finger around hers. "Two people who could be doing a lot of things, now that they're not working together."

She looked at him, her red lips pressed together, then slowly curled her fingers to take his hand. Her voice softened. "I'll admit, there are a lot of things I'd ... considered over the past year. Dancing with you was one of them."

The musicians played a long note and Draco led Hermione onto the dance floor. When the song began, he held her close, much closer than was proper. He spread his hand across her back, thumb brushing her spine above the edge of her dress. "What else have you considered?" he murmured, bending his head to touch his chin to her hair. He didn't need to ask, but he wanted to hear her say it aloud. He wanted her to make it real for him.

She dragged her hand along the breadth of his shoulder to slide one finger up and down his neck, her touch so light it made him shiver. "Dinners," she said. "Uninterrupted, non-work dinners. Starlit walks." She tipped her head up to whisper directly at his ear. "Testing that mattress you made me help you buy."

Draco shuddered. His heart thrummed fast, a knot of want and need forming behind his ribs. He pressed his fingers into her back, pulling her tight to his chest. "These are things also I would very much consider to," he said. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "To put into condisera—to conder—dammit."

Hermione laughed, her hand slipping over his nape to twine in the ends of his hair. "That's a yes, then?"

"Yes." Draco slid his hand down her spine, resting it on the small of her back. He set his forehead against hers, their masks pressed together, and looked into her eyes. "And if you're willing, I'd like to exercise that 'yes' tonight."

Hermione watched his eyes for a moment, then lowered one lid in a slow and languid wink. She took his hand and led him through the dancers and off the floor, angling for the wide arched exit at the rear of the room. 

"Malfoy!" a booming voice said. 

Draco stopped with a wince. He didn't need to look to know who'd called to him. Greg Goyle, a man with bad timing. "Go on," Draco said to Hermione when she turned. "I'll meet you outside and—"

A large, beefy hand clapped him on the shoulder, knocking him a step forward. "Congratulations, man!"

Draco gave a tight smile. "Greg," he said, silently willing his old friend not to say anything beyond 'hello' or 'sneaking off with Granger, about time' or something equally obnoxious. That, he could handle quickly. "If you'll excuse me, I'm just—"

"Can't believe the old man finally did it!" Greg said, nearly at a bellow. "Can't believe you had the scratch for it! What are you going to do with the property? Chop it up for flats? Nah, not you, you'd go condo, better class of people, right?"

Draco flinched as Hermione's eyes went wide. _Shit_ , he thought. Greg, bad timing? No. Bad wasn't enough of a word for it. Dreadful. Horrendous. Ghastly. 

For one brief moment, he actually thought about asking Hermione to supply him with a proper synonym. He dug his nails into his palm to stop himself. _That_ would be bad timing. 

"Property?" Hermione said. She took a step closer, her hands curling at her sides. "You bought another property, Draco?"

"He sure did! That abandoned prep school! Heard all about it at the club last night. Old Lucius seemed downright gleeful about selling to him."

Hermione whipped around to stare at Draco. "You were the other buyer. What did you do, grab your father right before he walked into the meeting and shove a pile of money into his pockets? Keep it in the family? Couldn't let it go to some outsider, could you?"

"Hermione, it wasn't like that." Draco moved closer to her, hands out. "I was doing you a favor. You know he was never going to sell to you. There was only one option and I took it, to keep the place from going to someone who'd knock it down and build a retail park."

"You," she said, jaw tight and eyes narrowed behind her mask. "You knew how much I wanted that property. How I struggled to raise the funds, how I networked to get the teachers and staff. I had a plan, Draco Malfoy, a five-year plan and a ten-year plan, I had goals and hopes and a mission, and you _ruined_ it."

"Hermione."

She shook her head hard enough to fling several of the jewels out of her hair. "You bastard. You—you. You loathsome little _cockroach_."

She slapped him.

Draco stood still, cheek stinging, as Hermione stormed out of the ballroom. Slowly, he turned to look at Greg, who had the decency to look apologetic. "Thanks," Draco said. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to run in these shoes?"

He took off after Hermione, skidding around the corner, but she was already out of sight.

* * *

Hermione ignored the noise coming from the hallway outside her flat as she contemplated the takeaway menu. Szechuan chicken, Kung Po chicken. She looked from one to the other and back again, head tipped, quill feather tapping against her lips. "Both," she said to the owl waiting impatiently on her windowsill. She wrote the dish numbers on the order form and added the numbers for rice, extra rice, and egg fried rice, as well as hot and sour soup, spring rolls, and beef satay skewers.

"Don't look at me like that," she said to the owl as she handed over her order form. "Yes, it's for one. It's always for one."

"Hermione!" Draco shouted through her front door again. "I know you're in there. I can hear you! I'm still not going away!"

She closed the window, dropped into her sofa, pulled an afghan over her lap, and grabbed her book off the side table. She snapped the book open, bookmark sailing onto the carpet, and resolutely focused on the page. 

_I decided Mr. Tanaka had been displeased by what Mrs. Fidget had told him about us_

"All right, Granger, you asked for it!" Draco shouted. "You've given me no choice! Believe me when I say I take absolutely no pleasure in this at all!"

Hermione tightened her grip on her book.

At the top of his lungs, Draco started singing. "He drinks a cider drink, he drinks a vodka drink! He drinks a whiskey drink, he drinks a lager drink! I get knocked down, but I get up again!"

Hermione flung _Memoirs of a Geisha_ across the room and leapt for the door. "Don't you _dare_ ," she snapped at Draco, who was standing in the corridor still in his blue-green robes, his feathered mask resting on top of his head. "I hate that song."

"I know."

"You don't even have the lyrics in the right order."

"I know."

"It's going to be stuck in my head for a week now."

"I know."

Hermione folded her arms and stared at him. "And I'm very irritated that it got me to open the door."

He nodded. "I know. Dirty quidditch. I'd have used the Weird Sisters instead, y'know, Do the Hippogriff, but your neighbor down the hall already thinks I'm insane."

"That's because you are. Honestly, Draco." He gave her a mulish look, his chin jutted out. It was obvious he intended to stand in the hall and wait all night. Hermione considered letting him do just that, but Mrs Bell in 5C cracked her door open and peered out. 

Hermione sighed and moved back, giving Draco room to step into her flat. She closed the door, but not before she heard Mrs Bell's famous sniff of disapproval. Hermione flicked a rude gesture at the door before turning to face Draco. "What makes you think I want your apologies?"

"I thought I could offer the apologies. And then you could hear them and then decide if you wanted them. Or if you wanted to slap me again and shove me out the door, or possibly the window, but if you do that, please slap the other side so they swell up evenly."

Hermione looked closer at his face. His skin was red and the high arch of his cheekbone looked less sharp than usual. "Oh, for heaven's sake," she said, pushing him to a chair. "Sit down." She grabbed a bag of peas out of the freezer and wrapped it in a dishtowel, then went to Draco, shoved his hand away from his face, and held the impromptu compress against his cheek.

"Cold," he muttered.

"Serves you right. You deserved it. Letting someone else spring the news on me like that. What were you going to do, wait until we woke up tomorrow morning to tell me? 'Thanks for the roll in the sheets, Granger, and by the way, I bought that building you wanted.' Were you going to throw me out without breakfast too?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I've seen you eat. I'd never fail to provide breakfast for you."

Hermione gave a guilty look to the window before returning her attention to Draco's cheek. "You said something about an apology."

"Yes. I owe you one. I tried earlier, but then there was the slapping and the storming off and I had to find your flat and I had to take a _taxicab_ because you live in a Muggle area for reasons unknown."

"Because my employer breaks out in hives when he's near Muggles and this way he wouldn't show up to my flat at all hours demanding I tell him which tie goes with which suit. You wear nothing but black, white, and green, Draco, it's not that difficult to match your clothes."

"I thought about buying a blue tie. Dark blue. Midnight blue."

"I'll call Vogue. Apology?"

Draco wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand down, the compress falling onto the arm of the chair. He shifted his grip to rub her chilled fingers between his hands. "I'm sorry. I'm very sorry. Eternally, unceasingly sorry. It was wrong of me to—to. Well. I did buy the property. And right before you were about to sign the final paperwork. Again, I'm sorry. But I did it because my father wasn't going to sell to you. Ever. Under no circumstances would he sell to you. He was going to find some excuse to cancel the deal entirely. I convinced him that selling to me would get you out of his hair and I most certainly played up how irritating you were and how much it would sting to have me buy it instead of you. So, once more, I'm sorry. But I bought the property and I have a proposition for you."

Hermione blinked at him. "Those don't really seem like two halves of one sentence."

"Stay with me. After all the paperwork is finalized and the deal is complete, I can then turn around and sell the property to you. I thought a Galleon might be a fair price. Bonus, can you imagine the look on my father's face once you get the property in the end anyway? He might actually have an emotion other than smug bastard, for once."

Hermione sputtered; Draco continued without pause.

"Or, and this is the option I'm rather hoping you take. We could own it jointly. Fifty-fifty. You see, in addition to buying this property, I've also left my father's firm. I'm thinking of starting my own, one that's focused on social support and development, and I'm going to need a legal advisor. Would you happen to know if there are any available? Say, perhaps, one who quit her job just this week? I'm particularly interested in someone who would prefer to be an equal partner instead of an employee."

"I'll have to ask around," Hermione said after a few moments of staring at him. Her heart was pounding against her ribs and her hand had somehow managed to link with his, fingers twined together. "I know one candidate but she's irritated with you right now. And confused. And kind of upset that you're seeing her in her comfy sweats and not the really nice dress she had on earlier this evening."

"And bunny slippers with only three ears."

Hermione kicked the slippers off and behind the chair. "What bunny slippers?"

"My mistake," Draco said, one corner of his mouth curling in a smile. "No slippers at all. Very nice nail varnish on your toes, however. Matches my robes." He squeezed her hand. "Hermione. I don't care about the outfit. I understand the confusion. I deserve the irritation. All of it, completely accurate, can't argue with it in the slightest. Wouldn't know how to argue it in the first place because I hire people to do my arguing for me. People who are smart and scary and beautiful. You know. People like you. Or you, rather."

He tugged at her hand. She wet her lips, watching his face, then exhaled and slipped onto his lap, her legs over the arm of the chair. She squealed, kicked the abandoned and thawing peas onto the floor, then settled back into place. 

"Does this mean you accept my apology?" Draco said hopefully. "And my proposition?"

She pulled the mask off his head, leaving his hair in a ruffled mess, and dropped it onto the floor. "You are a terrible person who absolutely has to learn to tell his partner about these things in advance rather than let them be sprung on her out of nowhere. You're also unfortunately sweet. And I do like the idea of seeing your father have a conniption once things are in motion. What _kind_ of social support?"

"Oh, you know. Muggle-Magical relations and co-operation. Representation for magical creatures, beasts and beings and all sorts. Um. Other things. Playgrounds? Baking classes? Help me out here, Hermione."

"Employment agencies. Financial assistance for the unbanked. Community halls. Childcare for working parents. Extracurricular activity centers."

"Wonderful. Lovely. All of that. Start a list and I'll buy you every color of ink in the world so you can color-code it to your heart's content. Obviously we'd need to start small, just one building and service. A house-elf welfare society, perhaps. Then once everyone sees how brilliant you are and how well you run things with your tiny iron fists and your pert little nose and your adorable chin, we can start buying other properties and expanding services."

"And what would be your half of this partnership?"

"I'd stand around looking incredibly handsome and spilling gold out of my pockets, obviously."

Hermione laughed and ruffled his hair further. "I don't know about _incredibly_ handsome. I've heard rumors that some people might think you're rather pointy."

Draco touched the end of his nose. "Striking, I believe is the word you were groping for."

"Ah, yes, of course. _Strikingly_ pointy." Hermione settled her arm around his shoulders. "I accept your apology," she said after a moment. "As for the rest, I don't know. I'll need to think about it."

"Would you be willing to think about it over a late dinner?" Draco asked.

A tapping at the window answered him. Hermione tipped her head. "Dinner's here. Go pay the owl, Draco. I'll share with you, as long as you don't steal my spring rolls." She stood, pulling him out of the chair to wrap her arms around him. Going up on her toes, she kissed the tip of his chin. "We can discuss more in the morning over breakfast. You're not the only one who needs to test their mattress for bounce."

* * *

_After a year of renovations, Malfoy and Malfoy, LLP, have completed the work on the new Central Association for the Training and Care of House-elves. Educational classes will be available for no charge to any house-elf that wishes to learn a new trade._

_At the celebratory dinner, Draco Malfoy couldn't seem to take his eyes off his wife, even during his speech. A glowing Hermione Malfoy was seen to lay one hand on her stomach and remark that her choice of both chicken and steak was for two._


End file.
